


Give and Take

by toewsyourheart



Series: farmer au [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn Watching, Porn With Plot, Sex Tapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: Patrick told Jonny the security cameras were a dumb idea.He's man enough to admit when he's wrong, okay.---Or, Patrick and Jonny make an accidental porno.





	Give and Take

**Author's Note:**

> set seven months after 'make no mistake, it's organic' 
> 
> all patrick's pov this time. 
> 
> and, as always, thanks to heartstrings for cheerleading and fixing my southern mistakes.

The place is notably cleaner since Patrick moved in, the pile of shoes he first saw by the door now a tidy row. Only the pair Jonny’s worn most recently is ever out of order. For convenience, he excuses. 

Most often, Jonny trudges in from the farm after a grueling day’s work so exhausted, he probably doesn’t even remember kicking them off, so Patrick lets it slide. It’s a compromise he can happily live with, especially when Jonny’s first destination is always Patrick—no matter how filthy he is, unfortunately—and nearly everything else is spotless. 

It’s not like Jonny isn’t a huge help around the house, either. After vigorous coaching and course correcting—some, Jonny, might call it nagging—on Patrick’s part, he is. He hits the appropriate laundry basket with his dirty clothes nine times out of ten, does nearly all the cooking and vacuuming, and knows just how to make Patrick the absolute perfect cup of hot tea. He tries, he’s considerate, and that’s what matters ultimately, so Patrick can forgive the shoe thing. 

And the office thing. 

Patrick shudders uncomfortably just thinking about it, the one room he isn’t allowed to organize, a glaring microcosm of what the whole place used to be like: papers strewn about with no rhyme or reason to speak of, covering Jonny’s desk and the coffee table in the corner, wholly unalphabetized bookshelves. The horror. 

He can’t even begin to function productively in there, each thing out of place grating his nerves, which is why they work separately: Jonny at his desk, Patrick at the dining room table. There was a time it served as a catch-all for Jonny’s shit, but it’s the picture of neatness since Patrick’s effectively taken it over. 

Patrick admires the space as he finishes up with a few case files he brought home from the station--where his own office is immaculate, by the way. There’s an efficient system in place: an unfinished pick-up stack to the left, discard folders to the right, laptop in the middle where he does all his documentation and research. Patrick’s just slotting the final packet into its folder and idly considering whether or not he should invest in another printer to save himself the constant trips upstairs, when he hears Jonny call out from there.

“Hey, Pat?” 

He’s been busy all afternoon, hammering out soap sale numbers or security measures for the market, maybe. Patrick wasn’t totally listening, engulfed in his own work, waving him off with a “have fun” and a quick peck to his cheek when Jonny leaned over his shoulder. He hasn’t heard a peep since. 

“Yeah, babe?” 

“Come up here, would ya?” 

“Need me to help you find something?” Patrick answers, chuckling to himself when he’s met with a silence that all but confirms his suspicion. It’s a running joke between them, and by far the biggest target on Jonny’s squeaky-clean, boyscout back. He won’t let Patrick undo the wrongs done to that office, but he’ll sure as hell let Patrick help him search endlessly for something in there. 

Jonny wouldn’t ask outright when things were still new between them, damaging to his pride as it was, stubborn as he is. Often Patrick would walk in to find him absolutely fuming, slinging things around and cursing to himself—all indirect pleas to be saved by Patrick’s grace, no doubt. But after seven months together, all that’s out the window, apparently. 

Nowadays, Jonny frequently negotiates deals, paid in sexual favors only, for Patrick’s services. 

“You’re a cop,” he’ll scoff, sure of himself as ever, insistent. “You have an unfair advantage. I’m not ashamed.” 

To which Patrick always protests, “There’s no advantage to be had in this clusterfuck,” even though he’s actually been lowkey cataloguing it all as best he can since he first stepped foot over its threshold. Then, predictably, he recovers whatever it is Jonny’s looking for way faster than he ever could’ve alone. 

It’s a fun time for everyone involved, in the end. Jonny gets what he wants, and Patrick gets something they both want, with a generous side of bragging rights. He couldn’t dream up a better arrangement if he tried, apart from Jonny letting him situate the goddamn office. 

Patrick scoots back from his spot at the table and heads up the stairs two at a time, smiling to himself as he thinks about some of the, uh, compensation he’s received for his uncanny ability to find things. He’s distracted when he rounds into Jonny’s office, stopping suddenly as everything comes into focus. 

Jonny’s leaned too casually against his desk, shirtless and barefoot, because he’s hardly ever any way else, with dark eyes trained on the door in apparent wait. His arms are crossed over his chest, the definition in his biceps a damn-near criminal offense. He looks exactly like he’s got a juicy secret. 

Patrick wants to know it, but of course, Jonny knows that, too. Subtlety isn’t his thing. 

“What’s up?” Patrick asks coolly, mouth going dry as the anticipation hangs in the distance between them. He’s so focused on Jonny and how instinctively turned on he is, the mess isn’t even on his radar for once. The corner of Jonny’s mouth twitches as he fights a bigger smile. 

“You tell me,” he says vaguely, holding Patrick’s gaze as he reaches to the laptop Patrick didn’t even notice was on the corner of his desk. Jonny spins it around to him, jabbing the spacebar with an audible click, and—

“You confessing to watching porn without me, Jonathan?” Patrick accuses with a hand to his chest in mock hurt, even as he can feel his own smirk widening. It’s not like they’ve never watched porn together, but Jonny whipping it out on a random Saturday afternoon is always a good sign that things are headed in a rewarding, orgasmic direction. 

“I don’t think this one counts,” Jonny tells him. 

“Oh, it doesn’t, huh?” Patrick squints at the screen. Two dudes, making out between a couple barns an unfortunate distance from the camera, obviously homemade stuff. It’s so relatable, it’s weirdly familiar, like a distant memory even. He takes a few steps forward to get a better look.

Patrick would recognize that broad, tanned body anywhere. 

“Oh my god.” 

Stupidly, his next thought is of an invoice, on yellow paper, for wheat flour. It’s what Jonny asked him to find in exchange for a drop-everything-and-fuck, some to-be-determined place and time of Patrick’s choosing. Onscreen, he watches himself walk Jonny back against the wooden wall, and it sends a shiver down his spine, witnessing Jonny’s hands squeeze his ass, fingers tangling in his hair, their mouths moving together as an outsider. 

Patrick vividly remembers that day: He was off duty, helping Jonny with the midday feed, once a foreign part of his daily routine that’s since become second nature. It was hot, so fucking hot, sun beating down without a substantial cloud to be seen to save them. Jonny had a huge sack of grain slung over his bare shoulder, glistening with sweat and all other sorts of majestic shit, and suddenly Patrick wasn’t in his right mind anymore. 

“Drop it, dude,” he demanded, eager to cash in on their arrangement as quickly as possible. 

Jonny’s answering look was amusingly defiant, hip cocked to the side and eyes narrowed. Patrick’s seen it many times. “What the fuck for?” 

“It’s time to pay up.” 

Patrick’s never been more thankful that Jonny ignored him, when he said those security cameras were probably unnecessary, even after the robbery that brought them together. This is the most wonderful, necessary thing he’s ever seen. They’ve had sex a million times since then, but Patrick will never forget how it felt—Jonny pounding into him, rough and sticky, with Patrick’s hands braced against the barn. Any one of Jonny’s other, albeit few, farmhands could’ve caught them. They were all new to the place at the time and in constant need of instruction, since Patrick had only recently talked Jonny into hiring out, frazzled and overworked as he was doing it alone. They could’ve come. They could’ve seen. 

It was the first time Patrick had ever done anything like that, simply because he hates feeling that way, helpless out in the open, exposed and vulnerable. Thinking about it now makes his breath come short, cheeks flushing red. But in that moment, it was everything. Instead of panicky, Patrick felt safe, trusting, certain of Jonny as the person he could confront his fears and conquer the world with.

And they’ve got it on video forever. 

He can’t stop himself from crowding right into Jonny’s space and looping his arms around him, and hey, why the hell should he? 

“You’ve been busy up here,” Patrick muses, massaging from Jonny’s neck to his traps and shoulders, toned and perfect as the rest of him. Patrick’s got him memorized to such a shameful degree, he’s confident he could identify him by touch if he needed to, every smooth curve and hard line.

Jonny gives a bashful smile and bends to kiss him once, close-mouthed and fleeting at first. “I was running the cameras back because I got worried about one of the new guys, and I—Christ, Patrick,” he breathes out as the next kiss evolves into something more solid. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that hard that fast before.” 

Patrick can relate. When they first got together, he felt like a fucking teenager, popping a boner every time Jonny so much as grazed him with intent. Turns out, it hasn’t gotten much better, thankfully, and the simple thought of everything that camera captured is making a similar beeline for his dick. He pulls back though, marginally suspicious, his default setting, once a question occurs to him. 

“You didn’t remember they were up at all when we were doin’ it?”

Jonny’s shown evidence of being super into that: watching and being watched, having something concrete to hang on to. Patrick’s got videos and photos, both sent and received, in the depths of his email to prove it. Knowingly recording them without running it by Patrick first, or at the very least, mentioning it before now, seems highly unlikely though, given what he’s learned about Jonny. If he’s into something, there’s no mistaking it. If he wants to try something new or repeat something old, he asks. There hasn’t been a “no” to date. 

Patrick glances over to the footage in question to find himself panting into his own forearm with his cargos around his ankles. Jonny’s three fingers deep in his ass. He clinches on nothing automatically, mouth falling open as he watches in awe, remembering the stretch, the extra bite with a mixture of Jonny’s spit and precome as their only source of lube. A little pain to go with the pleasure is often an inherent part of a spur of the moment fuck, and Patrick's more than down with that. He loves it, in fact, working to take him, his body eventually relaxing around him. Jonny always makes it so goddamn good, that feeling when he finally gets in deep is unbelievable. Lights out. 

“I was a little, uh, preoccupied, Patrick,” Jonny understates with a thick swallow. His hands circle Patrick’s hips and keep going to clutch his ass, tugging Patrick flush against him and promptly back to the present. Jonny’s cock is hard between them, and Patrick wants it inside him again, the persistent ache of his own dick making his head rush in the best of ways. “Besides, you’re supposed to remember better than me, with your steel trap mind and all.” 

It’s a teensy jab Patrick can effortlessly ignore as he grinds into Jonny, especially since his mind is, in fact, a steel trap. His sweatpants and Patrick’s jeans provide just enough friction to take the edge off, but with his curiosity assuaged, all that’s left is a relentless need for him. “You wanna go?” 

“Nah, I was hoping we’d just talk about it all afternoon, eh,” Jonny mumbles, and Patrick pinches his nipple for being so Canadian and so smartass, beyond satisfied when Jonny whines and pushes into his hand instead of jerking away. 

“Yeahhh, you like that,” Patrick whispers, tweaking the other on his way to gripping Jonny’s jaw for a long, wet kiss, sweeping his tongue over Jonny’s bottom lip when they part for air. 

“Do it again while you fuck me,” Jonny suggests, flexing his fingers encouragingly against Patrick’s ass. It’s a flip of the script Patrick had in his head for what might transpire here, but still, he’s open and not entirely sure why he didn't think of that alternative himself. 

“S’what you want?” 

“I did more prep for this than just editing the video, if you know what I mean,” Jonny informs him with a suggestive wag of his eyebrows, and Patrick sucks in a quick breath, shocked by the revelation, but ultimately unsurprised. Jonny’s a man with a plan. 

“You know I like to do that,” Patrick pouts, mentally running through the many ways it could’ve gone down. Jonny shrugs innocently, like he didn’t just yank the rug out from under Patrick’s feet and provide him spankbank material for life all at once.  “You finger yourself all alone at this desk without me?” 

“You could’ve walked in,” Jonny answers simply, every inflection in his voice lending itself to that being precisely what Jonny wanted and exactly what he did. 

Patrick has to take a second to compose himself before he bursts, just imagining it: Jonny low in his chair, adrenaline racing when he thinks about Patrick catching him. His thighs are spread, his feet propped on the desk so he can get to that tight, pretty hole; or Jonny standing, bent over the desk with his ass to the door, reaching around to tease himself open with a toy from their ever-growing collection. Fuck taking it to the bathroom, Jonny’s out here putting on a show, and Patrick can't believe he didn't receive a VIP invite. 

“Wish I woulda,” Patrick sighs wistfully. He lets his hand trail the length of Jonny’s spine, dipping into his sweatpants to find he’s not even wearing any fucking underwear, a silent killer. “But m’here now.” 

“Yeah you are,” Jonny smiles, shifting off the desk and further into his arms to give him room. Patrick takes full advantage of it, his fingers creeping south between Jonny’s cheeks until two of them slip inside him with minimal resistance. Jonny gasps softly, hips jerking forward as Patrick traces his rim, still slick with whatever stuff he used. 

“Such a shame all this work you did,” Patricks continues, slowly moving his fingers in and out now, “without anybody around to see.” 

“Mmmm,” Jonny hums, tucking his finger under Patrick’s chin to tilt his face up for a kiss, his lips velvety soft. “Without you around to see, you mean.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Patrick mumbles absently against his mouth, mind already ahead to the next play: adding a third finger. “Ready for another?” 

Patrick instantly feels Jonny fumbling at his waist, then nearly swallows his own tongue when that hand firmly rubs the length of him through his pants. “For this,” Jonny says, low and steady. 

Patrick draws in a ragged breath, nodding his approval before kissing along Jonny’s jawline and down his neck when Jonny bares it to him. He's overwhelmingly aware that as good as Jonny’s hand feels, it won't compare to what it’ll be like when his dick replaces his fingers, and he imagines Jonny feels about the same; so he pulls them out, wiping unceremoniously on his jeans before setting about getting them the fuck off. 

“Leave ‘em on, lose the shirt,” Jonny directs with a smacking press of his lips to Patrick’s. He yanks down his own sweats and backs himself onto a miraculously clear portion of his desk. 

“No room to lay back though,” Patrick pointedly notes, muffled through his t-shirt as he slides it over his head and off like Jonny asked, ruffling his hair. Instead of wasting time attempting to tame it, as is his normal MO, he goes for his belt, making quick work of the buckle and subsequent button and zipper, teeming with anticipation to touch Jonny, for him to touch back. Once everything’s pulled low enough for Patrick to spring free, he grasps his dick and strokes with a practiced hand, still not better than Jonny. 

“I think we’ll make it,” Jonny replies, impatiently hooking his heel around Patrick’s hip to reel him close between his legs. He's gloriously naked and smirking as he blatantly watches Patrick leisurely jerk himself, licking his lips seductively. It’s working for him. 

“Jesus, Jonny,” Patrick breathes out, flushed and fevered he wants him so fucking much. Jonny gives a knowing nod and produces a small bottle of lube from God knows where and holds it out; but instead of taking it right away, Patrick smooths his hands up Jonny’s thick thighs and leans in to kiss him, because he can't help it when Jonny’s looking at him that way. 

He moves his mouth to Jonny's ear and whispers, “Do it for me,” lip catching on the lobe. Jonny shivers, then Patrick hears the unmistakable snap of the cap. 

“Happy to,” he says, always a man of action, dispensing some into his hand and going right to it. 

Normally a perfunctory lube-up isn’t expected to be anything outstanding, Patrick assumes, but with Jonny, who’s never one to do anything half-ass, it is. He knows just how to touch him, firm enough but not too rough, thumbing perfectly over his head with an expert twist of his wrist. He even spares a second to gently massage Patrick’s balls with his offhand. Total fucking keeper. 

Patrick gives into him, melting under his hand until Jonny’s had enough waiting. He goads Patrick forward again with a foot to the small of his back, guiding his cock right where he wants it, the tip slipping just inside. 

Jonny lets out a muted moan, but Patrick wants it louder. So he grabs Jonny in the crease where thighs meet hip and tugs his ass just off the edge of the desk, surging up to sink all the way in with the combined motion. 

“Oh! Fuck,” Jonny shouts with a hiss, falling back on his hands. “Fucking finally.” 

“Can’t rush perfection, baby,” Patrick tells him with his best cocky grin, and it’s true. He loves sex with Jonny all ways—quick and dirty, slow and sensual, one then the other; it doesn’t matter—but nothing really beats a slow-burn, taking that extra time with each other, getting more worked up by the minute. When the finale’s magic no matter what, it only makes it better to set a steady pace getting there. 

Patrick can feel that now, pleasure building as he starts to move in long, deliberate strokes.  
He pulls out, just so he can see Jonny's hole spasm for him and watch himself push back in, over and over. Jonny’s head lulls to his shoulders, his eyes fluttering shut and lips parting on a blissed-out grunt that grows stronger each time Patrick rubs his prostate with a circle of his hips when he gets in deep. It's incredible, hot and tight and everything Patrick will never get enough of. 

“Yeah, Patrick, holy shit,” Jonny bites out in praise, a beautiful, splotchy flush breaking out over his neck and chest, which reminds him—

Patrick wraps Jonny’s legs loosely around his waist and reaches forward to play with his nipples as requested, because he’s here to please his man. He ghosts the pad of his thumb over the stiff peak before giving it a soft pinch. “Wish I could get my mouth on ‘em, Jon, flick my tongue just how you like.” 

Patrick gives a filthy demonstration with quick licks over his lips, using his fingers to match that sensation, and Jonny groans, flustered and staggeringly sexy. 

“Why’ve we never fucked in here before, huh?” Patrick asks after the sudden, random realization hits him that it’s the only room of the house in which they haven’t. He readjusts his hands to grab Jonny beneath his thighs, pushing them up at the bend of his knee. The angle is better this way, even if it puts Jonny’s nipples out of the game. “I fucking want you everywhere.” 

“Can't operate in here, remember?” Jonny huffs, teasing. 

Patrick slams in hard to prove the opposite. “Oh, I can't?” 

“Hey, you said it,” Jonny deflects amidst his uneven breathing. “I think you're doin’ a great fuckin’ job.” 

His approval is fuel to Patrick's fire as well as his kryptonite, and he has to focus hard not to come immediately. He crowds in impossibly closer, propping Jonny’s calves on his shoulders, and it bends him in two, the strain in Jonny’s back enough to make him sweep an arm haphazardly behind him, clearing a path for himself to sprawl out on the desk. Papers go flying, a stapler crashes to the floor, and Patrick laughs out loud, a wild, jubilant sound. It really can't get much worse in here. 

“Niiiice,” he remarks, resolved to ruin Jonny, just like this desk. Just like Jonny ruined him against that barn. 

Somehow Patrick tears his eyes away from him long enough to glance over at what brought them to this in the first place: the accidental porno. Jonny's fucking him, a hard and fast one, and his former self is meeting him thrust for thrust, bouncing back on Jonny’s dick like it’s the key to unlocking goddamn nirvana. If Patrick could get embarrassed by being easy for Jonny, he would be, watching this, but instead, he’s just incredibly and completely into it. 

“I remember it perfect,” Patrick gasps out, a jolt of pleasure surging through him at the memory, at how fantastic his own dick feels inside Jonny now. He wants nothing more than to make this as great as Jonny made it for him, so he matches his current pace to Jonny’s past one and spins the laptop so Jonny can see, too. “Look, Jonny, you’re fucking me so good.” 

“I know the feeling,” Jonny garbles, voice low and strained. He looks over, watching along with Patrick as he comes unhinged onscreen, and pleads, “I want. Please, just touch me.” 

Patrick doesn't dare make him ask twice, circling Jonny's rock-hard cock in his hand to jack him off in tandem with the motion of his hips. He’s leaking so much precome, the glide of his foreskin is effortless, up to the tip and down his shaft. Before Jonny, Patrick had less than zero experience with it, but after some trial and error and a little coaching, Jonny’s has become one of his favorite things ever. He loves discovering new ways to take Jonny apart with it, so sensitive beneath it and receptive to everything Patrick wants to try. 

“You almost there, doll?” Patrick wonders aloud, not to rush, because he’ll literally fuck Jonny ‘til the cows come home, for as long as he possibly can. He turns his head to kiss the inside of Jonny’s knee, sucking and biting on soft skin while Jonny hangs on for the ride, absorbing everything Patrick’s got for him. 

His hand joins Patrick’s around his dick, tightening their hold and speeding things up. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” Jonny says, overwhelmed. It takes Patrick longer than it should to realize he’s watching them again. “You know that? Letting me have you out there, oh my god.” 

“What if they saw us, Jon? Nick or Hayds?” He’s only working Jonny up more, he knows. He wants. “They could’ve. They—” 

“Fu-u-uck,” Jonny drawls, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he comes on the spot, thick and white over his stomach, and Patrick gasps, losing it as he watches Jonny lose it. 

“Yeahhhh,” Patrick moans, the rhythm of his hips faltering with his final three pumps in, hard and deep, before he’s spilling himself, stuffing Jonny full and mumbling satisfied curses. “So good, baby, fuck.” 

Patrick lowers Jonny’s legs and slumps over into his arms without the wherewithal to even dodge the come, still stroking Jonny’s cock between them as best he can until Jonny grunts and nudges him to stop, overwrought and thoroughly spent. Patrick kisses his chest as they come down, playfully licking at that nipple he wanted to put his mouth on so badly, and Jonny jerks beneath him. 

“Quit it,” he whines, no heat to it, winding his fingers through Patrick’s hair to scratch gently at his scalp, another one of Patrick’s favorite things. It’s a long, detailed list, where Jonny’s concerned. “And take back what you said about the cameras being useless.” 

“Let me fix this office,” Patrick counters, quirking an eyebrow at him. Theirs is a relationship of give and take, of compromise. 

“It’s not broken,” Jonny mutters petulantly, and Patrick chuckles, slipping out of Jonny with a shiver. He barely resists the urge to step back and watch his come leak out, shimmying up to get to his mouth for a languid kiss instead, loving and tender.

“I beg to differ,” Patrick argues, sucking gently on Jonny’s bottom lip, then releasing it. 

The arrangement on the desk is uncomfortable as fuck, but Jonny doesn't seem to realize or care, wrapping his arms snugly around him, tickling his back. He's like that anytime he comes, really, loose and warm and demanding of his cuddle time in the aftermath. Patrick doesn't mind it, and after a minute of calm and quiet, he's feeling rather benevolent himself, so he quietly admits, “I take it back. I love that we have this,” gesturing vaguely in the direction of the laptop to make himself clear. 

“Me too,” Jonny hums, satisfied, and presses a kiss to Patrick's forehead. “And I’ll think about it, since I threw everything on the floor anyway.” 

Patrick's not sure how he can tell the difference between that stuff on the floor and the normal stuff on the floor, but— “I’ll take that,” he concedes, knowing full well he’s got plenty of time to wear him down. 

Forever, he hopes.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and commenting, if you're into that kind of thing! 
> 
> come find me on tumblr @ [toewsme1988](http://toewsme1988.tumblr.com) or twitter @ [seabsneckbeard ](https://twitter.com/seabsneckbeard) !


End file.
